


a Baratheon and a Stark

by ayuminb



Series: Stark Sisters Week [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arrenged Marriages Happen - But Are Not the Norm, Bastard Turned Legitimate Son, Free of Cersei, Gen, Gendry is a Baratheon, Mentions of Cousin Incest, Mentions of Gendry/Arya, Mentions of Jon/Sansa, Oblique Mentions of Robert Baratheon Being a Free Man, Stark Sisters Bonding, The Great Houses of Westeros are Filthy Rich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 13:46:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb
Summary: As a child, she’d hated everything girly; dresses and makeup silly stories about princes and princesses and true love. Hated Sansa’s giggly friends and sometimes even Sansa for not trying to do something she liked. Which, thinking back, hadn’t been fair on her sister because Arya herself never made an effort to do something Sansa liked.





	a Baratheon and a Stark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Stark Sisters Week](https://starksistersweek.tumblr.com/). Days Oct 18th - Modern AU & Oct 20th - Childhood. This is the last one.

“Would you keep still?”

 

Arya glares, but does what she’s told. Bloody hell, it’s hard to keep still – she’s never been one to just sit quietly. And the fact that she has to sit quietly now it’s so her sister can put _makeup_ on her—

 

“Ok, but how much more of that stuff are you gonna put on me?”

 

Sansa glares back. “I’ve just applied the lip-gloss.”

 

“Isn’t that enough?”

 

“Do you want my help or not?”

 

Taking a deep breath, she nods, resolute, and stops fidgeting. “Carry on.”

 

Sansa levels a serious look on her, before reaching for the eyeshadow; she arches an eyebrow at her when Arya freezes, but as there’s no more fidgeting, she says nothing. “You used to hate makeup.”

 

“I still do.”

 

“Then why are we doing this?”

 

Her sister’s movements are gentle, would even be _soothing_ in a way if she weren’t so high-strung now. “We’ve important guests tonight.”

 

“The Baratheons are family friends, there’s no need for this – especially if it makes you uncomfortable.”

 

As a child, she’d hated everything _girly_ ; dresses and makeup, silly stories about princes and princesses and _true love_. Hated Sansa’s giggly friends and sometimes even Sansa for not trying to do something _she_ liked. Which, thinking back, hadn’t been fair on her sister because Arya herself never made an effort to do something _Sansa_ liked.

 

They’ve now mostly outgrown their petty squabble from their childhood, mostly; they still bicker, and clash, and spend hours without talking to each other, but they’ve also learned to resolve their issues by the end of the day.

 

“Arya, what is it?”

 

It is only because Sansa stops applying the makeup that she finds herself answering.

 

“This is not just a regular visit.”

 

“Oh?”

 

It is the _reason_ for this visit that has her so – nervous, there’s no denying, Arya isn’t about to lie to herself. True, as best friends, their Dad and Robert Baratheon hardly needed excuses to get together and drag their families along. And for the most part, such reunions had been alright; Mr. Baratheon himself had been, still _is_ , an amusing man—the rest of his family, not so much.

 

And by _family_ Arya means the woman who used to be his wife and the idiot everyone believed to be his eldest child. Myrcella and Tommed had been sweet if a little coddled, and really, the only ones who hadn’t deserved all the trouble the came their way.

 

Now that – _that_ had been the scandal of the year. That divorce, the revelation that came _after_. And what came _much_ later as well; the reason for all her fretting.

 

“It’s just… _before_ , these visits were for you; the Baratheons came for you and you always managed to look so…”

 

Arya wants to say flawless, but while that is _true_ Sansa also had looked slightly uncomfortable and devoid of much genuineness, which kind of put a damper on her radiance. It always seemed to Arya as if her sister were putting up a show for everyone’s benefit. Dad’s and Mom’s and Robert’s and Cersei’s and _Joffrey’s_.

 

“The _Baratheons_ didn’t came for me,” says Sansa, frowning. “ _Cersei_ did, to secure a hold on our family’s fortune through Joffrey and me.”

 

That brings forth a smile; Arya still remembers quite fondly the night Joffrey tried to corner her sister into a relationship by formally asking her in front of both their families – thinking she would agree if only to avoid causing an scene. What a _moment_ , it was, she knows she’ll treasure it for the rest of her life.

 

Sansa arches an eyebrow, moving to put what she hopes are the final touches of her makeup. “What?”

 

“Just remembering the night you gave the smack down to Joffrey," she says, daring to smirk. "I’ve never been prouder.”

 

“Ahh," there's an answering smirk. "I still can’t believe he tried to pull that crap on me.”

 

Arya rolls her eyes, risking a reprimand. “I do. The guy is a _douche_ and that is putting it mildly," then she tries not to grimace, "but I have to say – the reveal of your relationship with Jon, that was overkill.”

 

“Was it?”

 

“You rhetorically asking Joffrey why you’d want a _boy_ when you already have a _man_ —that, dear sister, was brutal.”

 

Not to mention shocking enough to leave even the Lannisters speechless. Of course, had it only been Sansa's sass as she let Joffrey down, things would've been sort of okay. But then the little prick had demanded to know who could be better than him – the look on his face had been almost, _almost_ , enough to forget the deafening silence that ensued once Jon had stepped closer to Sansa and slowly entwined their fingers together.

 

“Mom didn’t find it so funny, nor Dad or Robb,” says Sansa, finally sitting back and declaring her ready. "Or you."

 

Well, no one could really _blame_ them. Dinner that night had come to a swift and chilly end. All in all, things did turn out for the better in the end—but boy the weeks following that revelation had been awkward at best.

 

“We got over it eventually," says Arya, because it is true, "so, I say no harm done.”

 

“You certainly were relieved when the truth about Cersei’s infidelity came out.” Her sister stands to put away all her makeup, and then comes back to her side to help her with her hair. “Look, Arya… Mr. Baratheon is Dad’s best friend; he’s known us practically our whole lives. Even after the situation with Joffrey, he never held it against _us_ , that was Cersei. And you—if what you are saying is true and this visit is _important_ in that regard—you will have nothing to worry about.”

 

She sighs. “I’m being silly, I know.”

 

“Not silly," Sansa taps her nose, smiling. "Everyone wants their first _official_ ‘meet the family’ to be perfect. Trust me, you're not the first and you won't be the last to fret over this.”

 

“You had it easy, you and Jon.”

 

“Right. Because standing in front of our parents to tell them I'm very much in love with the nephew they’ve raised as their own son and the relationship is very serious was such a walk in the park…" she stops, thankfully, when she catches her pained look. "Hey, don’t give me that look, you brought it up.”

 

“I could've done without the mushy declaration," is her reply, and then, "at least they were understanding – after a while.”

 

“We know Gendry, Arya. We love Gendry, it’ll be fine.”

 

Her own very serious boyfriend; who went from a fatherless boy to the bastard-turned-legitimate son of Robert Baratheon. All in the spam of a month. The very same that now is soon to arrive for this dinner that is definitely not just a friendly visit. That will be nothing like the first time she introduced him to her family—over a year ago.

 

“Mr. Baratheon wanted _you_ to marry a son of his.”

 

Stupid as it may sound, that is what troubles her the most – and she hasn't had the time to talk to Gendry this past month about what this all means. She knows Gendry, knows what it means to him to have his father now – knows how very hard it’d been when he just found out. This really changes nothing between them. But Robert Baatheon is a force to be reckoned with; that much is true.

 

So, really stupid, all of this insecurity—but Arya thinks she can be forgiven.

 

Sansa snorts at that. “Please, have you ever asked Dad how that conversation went? It’s not that deep.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Ned, I have a son, you have a daughter…”

 

The laugh bubbles up before she can properly process it then; the rough voice she tries to imitate, Arya can actually picture it. “Surprisingly uncanny, sister.”

 

“Now, enough of this insecurity – it’s you and Gendry! And Mr. Baratheon will be probably frothing at the mouth just thinking about your possible marriage.”

 

Honestly, sometimes it feels like the man lives in the Middle Ages, trying to arrange his recently-discovered son's marriage. Arya shudders.

 

“Can we _not_ jump to a hypothetical event that may never come to pass," she scowls at her sister’s smug smile. "What? Don’t look at me like that.”

 

“Alright!” Sansa grabs her hands and pulls her up, looking way too much excited; she even makes her twirl once, much to her displeasure. “Oh, Arya, you look beautiful!”

 

Unbidden, she feels the blush climb up her neck; glares at her sister. “Shut up.”

 

Okay – Arya will never truly stop complaining about dresses and makeup and everything _fucking_ girly, but. She flattens her hands over the skirt of the dress and thinks tonight might just be an exception. Looking at how giddy Sansa is, she’s hard pressed not to return the smile.

 

“Gendry will spend the rest of the night trying to pick up his jaw off the floor.”

 

She rolls her eyes, but has to agree – because _yes_ , yes he will.

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeta'd so if you see any mistakes, please let me know?


End file.
